Glances
by BurningTyger
Summary: Perhaps it wasn't Idril after all. Maeglin slash.


Glances

Perhaps it wasn't Idril after all. (Maeglin slash.)

**Pairing:** You'll know. Trust me.

**Disclaimer:** The characters, settings, and events herein belong to J. R. R. Tolkien, although his descendents would be the ones to sue me. No money is being made from this writing, and no infringement is intended.

**Author's Note**: Tolkien was quite unequivocal about whom Maeglin loved, and therefore the entire premise of this story falls under the "Alternate Universe" category. Thank you.

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'Then he called him Maeglin, which is Sharp Glance, for her perceived that the eyes of his son were more piercing than his own, and his thought could read the secrets of hearts beyond the mist of words.'

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Glances

            You never once looked me in the eye.

            When you came before my uncle the king, we were introduced, and you bowed to me with the same respectful disinterest you offered all the others. You did not meet anyone's eyes.

            Except hers. You had eyes for one woman only: Idril Celebrindal, daughter of the king. You set your standards high indeed -- higher than a mortal ought.

            Too high for me.

            You told us that you had been sent by Ulmo himself to warn Turgon of his arrogance. Did not the sea-god tell you that it was a fool's errand? That the king was too far gone to listen to reason? Oh, he heard you out, certainly, and he thanked you for your wise advice.

            Surely you knew that he scorned you all the while. And I admit I encouraged him to do so. You were young, I told him, even for a mortal. Why would a Vala trust you, a lone young Man, with such a message? Should not Ulmo have sent a legion of seafarers to deliver his warning? I was a coward; I did not want to abandon the city that had become home to me. 

            In the end, the king agreed with me and refused to relinquish the great kingdom his hands had built. But he did not cast you out of the city. Instead he gave you all the glory you could have wanted, rooms in the palace tower and all the wealth you could desire. Turgon wanted to make you happy here, so that you would not one day flee our city and betray Gondolin to the world beyond.

            You let on that you were satisfied with the riches he gave you, but you never cared for the finery. You cared only that you lived in the palace, for it gave you a chance to live alongside the one whom you most loved. You had found her in the first hour of your coming; you gave her your heart and your soul. I was doomed to linger forever in the background, stealing tiny sidelong glances at the pair of you. But oh, those glances!

            You were bright and golden as the day, she fair and pale-hared, and when the two of you were together it was as though Anar and Isil rode together in the sky. Oh, how you suited each other, they said. Her eyes were the cool blue of the sky in autumn, but yours, when I could catch them, shone grey as the storm-tossed sea that brought you here. I saw them flash with anger, light with joy, smolder with aching desire. Ah, how I wished you would turn that burning gaze on me!

            I sometimes wondered how you thought of me, if indeed you ever did think of anyone but her. Begotten of the strangest pair: Ar-Feiniel the White Lady, and Eöl the Dark Elf. The princess and the murderer, as they came to be known even in my youth. I was born into shadows, and as long as you were hers, there I dwelt, and I did not feel the warmth and light of Gondolin.

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            When the king gave his blessing to your union, my heart broke. When Eärendil was born, I knew I must get free of Gondolin or go mad. So I left your white city for a time by a secret way through the northern mountains, and whenever my grief threatened to drown me I would go out again, roaming in solitude across the forests and valleys.

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            On the plains of Beleriand I could walk for hours and never think of you and your married bliss. I grew to be a feared warrior and a master of the sword, as Eöl my father once had been. Though I had taken the heritage and the home my mother gained for me, I took also the name my father had given me, and his ways were always in my heart.

            It struck me as a most bitter irony when I was beset by orcs less than half a league from the Echoriath one night. I was wounded badly and taken prisoner, another elven victim of the Black Foe.

            If it is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, then imprisonment must make it mad with lust. When I was tortured, it was your name I cried out, you whom I begged to rescue me or kill me, anything to release me from this torment. I know not how long I languished there, with the whips and brands and blades of the orcs, but it felt like years to my wasted body and withered heart.

            One dim morning I was brought before Morgoth himself, and I shrank like a coward before his fearsome wrath. I was hardly in a state to refuse his demands, though I did try. Oh, I kept my silence for hours, despite the torture, but then he suggested that perhaps I would like to see what sort of sport you gave before you were killed. I abandoned all pride and pretense and threw myself weeping at the foot of his throne, begging him to spare you even at the cost of Gondolin itself. In my despair, I told him everything he commanded of me. I betrayed the secret city to him, and the only price I asked was your life.

            For this I was richly rewarded. I was fed well, my wounds were dressed, and I was given new raiment of supple black leather. I received new mail and a new helm, and my sword was returned to me, for Morgoth is generous to those who obey his commands. He named me his captain and bade me lead his army to victory against Gondolin.

            But he would not make my part in this complicity so simple. I was sent forthwith back to Gondolin, to live with my guilt in the city that I had betrayed. I could have told them then, I could have saved them all from Morgoth's wrath, but I stayed silent. For the Dark Lord's promise yet rang in my ears: when all the others were dead, and Morgoth himself threw down Turgon's great throne, I would have you. And so I bided my time in doomed Gondolin, speaking little, sleeping less, but seeing all with a new clarity. Idril began to suspect something, but not the truth -- she saw the expression in my eyes and believed I was watching _her_. I often laughed at the fear in her eyes, and I entertained myself sometimes by encouraging her suspicions.

            On the first eve of summer, in the year following my return, Morgoth sent his armies to scale the Encircling Mountains by my own secret paths in the north. I slipped away from the vigil to join them as they lay in wait, and I looked down for the last time on the peaceful twilight of my city.

            At dawn, the dragons were released over the city, clearing the way for Uruks, wargs, trolls, and the great and terrible Balrogs. One of these strove with Ecthelion the king's stweard in the first moments of the battle, and each slew the other there upon the walls of the city.

            As I stepped upon the street of my erstwhile home, the first being I laid eyes on was you, a figure out of legend in your silver mail, bright sword shining in your hand. You glanced at me, and you knew, and a sharp fury glimmered in your eyes. Oh, how I regretted then what I had done!

            But then I saw, fleeing from the sounds of battle, your flaxen-haired maiden...and the babe in her arms. I lost all reason in that moment, and in a sudden madness I abandoned Morgoth's promise. I knew I myself would have to lure you to me. So I took them. Or rather, I laid hands on Eärendil -- Idril could hardly have left me, once I had your child in my grasp. I took your wife and son to the distant walls of the city, where the battle had not yet spread. I knew I had only to wait, and you would come.

            And come you did, sword raised and ready to defend your love: the very image of a hero. You bore down upon me, forcing me to raise my own blade in defense, and there was murder in your heart. But even in this I had my triumph: your eyes were cold and hard and full of hate, but for once your gaze was mine.

            I held it until I could no longer bear to look upon you. I could now see in your eyes and your heart the truth I had so long denied: you were hers alone, and your son's -- you would never be mine. My grief and guilt overcame me then. I had sold a city for love of you, and you would never return that passion.

            I dropped my guard for an instant, and that was all you needed. I felt the blood on my hands, hot as the pain of my betrayal, as you wrenched your sword free of my body. Idril cried out -- could it be that she was begging you even at the end to show me mercy? I will never know, for it was then that my legs gave out and I tumbled over the edge. The last person I saw was you, alone and grim and triumphant as you let me fall, your crimson-stained sword at your side.

            They will say that jealousy drove me to this end. They will be right.

            But they will never know that the object of my envy was you.


End file.
